Hold On
by wildemoon
Summary: Obi-Wan connects to a strange woman on Tatooine. HET - Obi-Wan/OFC


Title: Hold On

Author: Elizabeth Wilde

Summary: Obi-Wan connects to a strange woman on Tatooine.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Obi-Wan/OFC

Disclaimer: I own Ishara, but not Obi-Wan. I'd reverse that if I could, but I can't. I'm not making any money, I swear.

Distribution: My site at .net/wilde, anyone who asks nicely, anyone already archiving my fic.

Ishara Darkstar carefully braided her long, gray-streaked brown hair. Tired brown eyes creased liberally at the corners stared back from the cracked mirror. After living in the harsh dessert climate of Tatooine for all fifty-six years of her life, Ishara counted herself lucky that her deeply tanned skin remained moderately supple. Though the farthest thing from her mind was vanity, the former dancing girl carried herself with great dignity and confidence.

Looking out over the quickly-brightening landscape of Mos Eisley, Ishara sighed. She quickly hefted her basket of various fabrics and jewelry and headed for the town center. Ishara nodded politely to several other merchants before setting out her wares on the dusty planks that served as a stand. Booming business for her meant making enough to eat and pay her rent. The time had long passed when Ishara could us her looks to persuade the burly landlord not to take her home away. "You there! Think your lady-friend might like a pretty necklace?" The man scowled and turned away. Surviving never got easier.

Something urged Ishara to turn around, so she did. After many years of struggling to make ends meet, she knew better than to question her instincts. More often than not, they saved her a lot of grief.

For a few brief moments, she considered the sight that met her eyes. Certainly nothing out of the ordinary. The man came every week to buy food, sometimes pick up a bit of material or thread for mending, then left. /Well./ Ishara decided, /if the voices in my head insist./ "You there!" She quickly scanned her almost photographic memory for his name. "Kenobi!"

His piercing blue gaze shifted toward her, a look of surprise darting across the classic features. Ishara considered briefly how handsome he looked now that she had taken the time to consider. "Yes?" His voice was gentle, accented slightly.

"I see you every week and not once have you stopped at my stand. I might begin to take offense soon."

He smiled outright then, stepping up to her booth and resting callused hands on the boards in front of Ishara. "I rarely find myself in need of jewelry or silks, Ms..."

"Ishara Darkstar. My friends-when I had them-called me Shara. You can if you'd like." She grabbed one of his hands and clasped it briefly. The sheer power pouring from him made her eyes widen. "Tell me, Kenobi-"

"Ben. "

"Ben. Why are you here? "

"The same reason as anyone else. It is where I ended up."

"No." The woman shook her head firmly. "I've only just met you and I know better. You're hiding something, Ben. I can feel it."

Something-sadness or anger-lit his eyes. "You are mistaken. I believe I need to be going."

/You aren't getting away that easy, Ben Kenobi./ "Hey, wait! I didn't mean to offend you. Don't walk away mad." She could no longer read the hermit's expression. /May as well plunge ahead, then./ "Tell you what; if you come back here around dusk, I'll cook you what I guarantee will be the best dinner you've eaten in years. If you don't agree, you can hate me and never speak to me again. Deal?"

Though his expression remained unchanged, Kenobi's eyes twinkled. "A fair bargain. I will see you at dusk, Ishara Darkstar."

It had been years since Ishara had entertained anyone other than herself. /I promised a good dinner and come flood or drought, that's what this is going to be./ After almost an hour of scrounging and cooking, Ishara felt inordinately pleased with the modest but appetizing feast spread across the table in the dining area of her one room apartment. "I know it isn't much-"

"It looks a thousand times better than anything I've had in years, just as you promised," Ben assured her softly.

Ishara set herself down in the opposing chair with a sigh. "I hope it tasted half that good. I'm afraid it's been some time since I've done any entertaining."

"I'm sure it will be wonderful."

For several minutes, they ate in silence. "You remember what I said the other day? About you hiding something?"

Piercing blue eyes watched her carefully. "I remember."

"Well, I'm more convinced now than ever." Ishara held her hand up to silence any impending protests. "I didn't say I wanted to know what you're hiding. I just wanted to let you know that I know." She gazed at some memory hovering just over his shoulder. "I'm good at keeping secrets."

"Such as your illness."

Startled, Ishara studied his face. "How did you know?"

"Do you realize how serious it has become?" he questioned, ignoring her inquiry.

"Oh, yes. I'm dying. That's how serious it's become," she replied with a self-depreciating laugh. "It's why Jabba the Hutt dismissed me. Medical care is too expensive. No dancing girl is worth so much."

"You worked for Jabba?"

"For almost fifteen years. Then around 20 years ago, I caught a fever. No one thought anything of it. But a couple of months later, the fever came back. Jabba's personal physician had had quite a crush on me for several years, so he ran a few tests."

"Regallian Syndrome."

Ishara nodded. "Yes. Jabba forced the physician to tell him what was wrong, then threw me into the street." She half-smiled at Ben. "I've been living on borrowed time. But it's almost over, isn't it? I'll be dead soon."

Some unreadable emotion flitted across Ben's face, then the invisible wall that kept everyone at a distance descended again. "Yes."

"Well. Not much to follow that, is there?" The joke sounded lame even to Ishara's ears. "I'm sorry." She rose, moving to take his plate, but a strong hand closed around her wrist.

"Please, sit. I'm in no hurry, unless you'd really like me to leave."

"No." Ishara sat down again, glad that he did not release her hand. "I'd like it if you stayed. Besides, I'd feel horrible if I found out you were attacked and killed by Sand People walking home after dark."

"It's decided then. Now where were we?"


End file.
